


The Fat Beatle

by dustnik



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustnik/pseuds/dustnik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Paul comforts John after he reads a newspaper article referring to him as the “fat Beatle.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fat Beatle

John had been in a particularly foul temper all day, and as he was never one to suffer in silence, everyone around him felt the effect of his bad mood. It had begun early that morning when Brian sailed into the Beatles’ hotel suite. He brought with him a copy of the local newspaper with an article promoting their upcoming concert that evening. “Well, lads, you’ll be happy to hear that the show is sold out once again.” He tossed the paper carelessly onto the linen-clad table where they were all enjoying their breakfast.

Paul smiled, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a slice of buttered toast in the other, while Ringo sat sleepily behind a bowl of corn flakes. John and George shoveled enormous forkfuls of scrambled eggs into their open mouths from the huge mounds in front of them. George picked up the newspaper. “Let’s see what they have to say about us.” He folded the paper noisily, causing Ringo to look up from his cereal.

“I didn’t know you could read?” he joked.

“I’ve been taking lessons,” George retorted. He read in silence until suddenly something caused him to chuckle. ”Look at this, John. Here he calls you the ‘fat Beatle.’ ”

They all broke into raucous laughter except John who glared angrily at the younger man. “It doesn’t really say that,” he hissed, dropping his fork loudly onto his plate.

“Yeah, it does. Right here.” George snickered and pointed to the offending words.

“Lemme see the damn thing.” John snatched the paper from George’s hand, holding it very close to his face, his myopic eyes impatiently scouring the tiny print. His fleshy face reddened, and he slapped the publication down angrily. He rose quickly from the table, nearly overturning his chair. Within seconds, he was in Brian’s face, releasing his full fury on their dapper manager. “So what are you doin’ about this, you soddin’ queer?”

“What is it you expect me to do, John?” Brian looked honestly bewildered.

“I expect you and your smart-Jew lawyer friends to sue the bloody bastard—sue the whole bleeding newspaper.” He stood almost nose-to-nose with the older man now, his index finger jabbing dangerously close to the manager’s face.

Brian looked frightened. “B-but John, I’m not sure there are any grounds here for a lawsuit.”

“No grounds?” John was shouting as the other Beatles watched in uncomfortable silence. “He called me fat, didn’t he? He damaged me bleedin’ reputation, didn’t he? That’s libel, that is, and I want you to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”

“I can make some calls,” Brian suggested timidly.

“Yeah, that’s all you’re good for, innit?” John sneered. “Makin’ calls and buggerin’ boys.”

“That’s enough, John.” Paul had joined the two men, placing a calming hand on his partner’s shoulder.

Lennon shrugged him off and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Brian, still shaken, gave the others their instructions regarding that night’s show. "Is he going to be alright?" he asked Paul uneasily, indicating the closed bathroom door.

McCartney nodded. "I’ll talk to him. It’ll be okay."

After Brian left, Paul stepped lightly over to the bathroom, rapping softly on the door. “He’s gone. Come back to breakfast.”

There was no reply.

Paul tried turning the knob but found the door locked. “C’mon John, your eggs are getting cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat.”

“I said I’m not hungry. Now sod off.”

Paul rolled his eyes. He hated when John got like this.

George and Ringo had finished eating and were watching television, a war picture by the sound of it. Paul returned to the table, poured out another cup of tea, and perused the offensive newspaper article. There it was in black and white— _John Lennon, the fat Beatle_. He knew that John had put on considerable weight recently, but he had no idea that it bothered him so much. McCartney disposed of the paper neatly in a nearby waste basket before joining the others. No reason for John to have to see it again. After nearly twenty minutes of John Wayne, air battles, and patriotic rhetoric, Paul heard the bathroom door open. John emerged briefly, only to disappear into the bedroom he was sharing with Ringo.

The movie had finally ended, and Ringo was now busy working a crossword puzzle while George wrote a letter to his parents. Paul decided to risk another verbal assault by checking on John. He found the bedroom door closed but not locked this time. John was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Paul sat down beside him. “Forget about that stupid article. No one reads that paper anyway."

There was no response.

“So are you going to sulk in here all day then?”

Lennon shot him a withering glance. “No one’s forcin’ you to stay, you know.”

“Fine then. I’m off.” Paul returned to the others and retrieved his guitar from its case. After carefully tuning it, he began working on a song that had come to him early that morning. He already had the verse, and the chorus was slowly coming together, but it still needed a catchy “middle eight.” He could have used John’s help with it, but he knew better than to ask him now.

Morning gave way to afternoon, and George announced that he was hungry. They scanned the room-service menu deciding on their lunch order. “Should we see what John wants?” Ringo asked Paul uneasily.

The bass player shook his head. “I know what he likes.” He placed the call downstairs, and several minutes later, there was a knock on their door.

After being cleared by the guard stationed at their door, the waiter was shown in. He went about quickly clearing away the breakfast things and setting the table for lunch. A fresh tablecloth was laid, and the plates and drinks were set upon it. He left them with a smile and a little nod.

“Ta,” George called after him.

John entered the room wearing a scowl. “Who the hell was that at the door?” Then he noticed the food lying on the table.

They all plopped down and sorted out their lunches. “I got you a couple of cheeseburgers and some chips,” Paul informed his partner. “I knew you’d be hungry since you didn’t have much breakfast.”

John just stared down at the food piled in front of him.

George took a gigantic bite of his burger, declaring with his mouth full, “American food is the best.” He swallowed, taking a long pull from his chocolate shake.

Lennon glared at him. “You’re disgustin’.”

The younger man gave him a puzzled look.

“Look at you, shovin’ all that food in yer gob, for all the good it does. You still look like a little girl.”

Paul knew that George was slightly sensitive about his frail physique. “Aw, leave him alone, John. Our Georgie’s just a growing boy.”

George shot him a grateful smile.

But John wouldn’t be put off. “You eat all the buggerin’ time. So how do you stay such a skinny sod?”

George looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I try, but I just don’t gain weight.”

“You don’t gain weight,” John repeated in a mocking tone. “Well, here then. You might as well have my bleedin’ lunch too.” He slid his plate in front of the younger man and got up from the table.

“Aren’t you gonna eat, John?” Ringo looked up with concern.

“That’s right, Ritch. I’m not.” He threw himself on the sofa and turned on the television, lighting a cigarette.

George and Ringo turned to Paul questioningly. If anyone could get through to their leader it was him.

“John, don’t be daft. You have to eat. We have a show tonight, and we can’t have you passing out on stage.”

“Don’t worry Paul. I wouldn’t dream of embarrassin' you.”

“Well, screw you, Lennon. Go ahead and starve. See if I care.”

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly in card playing and desultory conversation peppered with John’s caustic comments. A bored Lennon was bad enough, but a bored and hungry Lennon was unbearable.

Finally, it was time to prepare for the show. They shaved and showered and dressed in their matching, gray suits. Their handlers arrived right on schedule to escort them down to their cars and on to the arena. The concert went off without incident with a somewhat subdued John.

Later, they arrived back to their suite for an after-show party. The rooms had been cleaned while they were out, and food and liquor brought in, along with a bevy of beautiful and very willing girls to choose from. Musician friends dropped by and promptly joined in the fun. Only one person seemed to be missing.

Paul noticed the closed bedroom door and entered without knocking. He found John sitting in front of the mirror wearing only his underwear and his thick, dark-rimmed glasses. Paul positioned himself on one of the beds. “Are you okay, John?”

“Yeah, great.” He rose and sat next to Paul on the bed hanging his head dejectedly.

“It looks like it’s going to be a grand party, lots of food and pretty girls dying to get it off with a Beatle. We can’t let George and Ringo have all the fun.”

Lennon didn’t reply.

“Get dressed and come get something to eat.”

John spoke determinedly without lifting his head. “I’m never eatin’ again.”

“You have to eat, John.” Paul slipped an arm around his old friend’s thick waist, feeling him pull in his stomach sharply.

“That reporter was right. I am fat.”

“You’re not fat.”

Lennon pinched a roll from his waistline. “Look! What do you call that?”

“I call that a ‘love handle.’ ”

“I thought that you, of all people, would tell me the truth.”

“Okay, maybe you have put on a little weight. We all have. So what?”

“So no one’s callin’ you the ‘fat Beatle,’ are they?”

“I wouldn’t care if they did.”

“But they wouldn’t, would they? No, you’ve always been the ‘cute Beatle,’ with yer pretty face and yer perfect body. How would you know what it’s like to be the fat, ugly one?”

Paul couldn’t believe that John would take one silly comment to heart like this. It seemed to stir up all his old insecurities about himself. “I was a fat school boy when we met, remember?”

“That was different.”

“How was it different?”

“You were still a lad, and that was just puppy fat. I’m a grown man, and I look like a disgustin’ pig.”

Paul wanted to go down to the newspaper office and personally beat the shite out of the so-called journalist who started all this. “C’mon, John. Get dressed and come to the party.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror, Paul?”

“I see Jim and Mary McCartney’s baby boy. What do you see, John?”

The other man didn’t answer and turned down the bed, crawling in between the sheets. “Turn off the light on yer way out.”

Paul kissed him lightly on the forehead before heading for the door. “Good night, love.” He switched off the light and sighed, saddened by the realization that John would never be able to see himself for the beautiful man he truly was.


End file.
